


When I Had a Heart

by Aeternus_Flamma



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: AU, Action, Adventure, Drama, F/M, Gen, Rewrite of an old fanfiction, Romance, not actually a romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9576050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeternus_Flamma/pseuds/Aeternus_Flamma
Summary: Just before his birthday, Trunks begins to have terrible nightmares. As much as he tries to forget the images his mind has been forcing him to see, he can’t escape the feeling of approaching dread. Shortly after, an acquaintance of Vegeta appears, much to the Saiyan Prince’s dismay. [Drastic rewrite of my old, old fanfiction, ‘If I Had A Heart’. explanation inside]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Over a decade ago, I began ‘If I Had a Heart’. Looking back on it, it’s absolutely terrible and should likely be locked away so no one can ever see it again. However, I had a strange surge of inspiration to take that story and do a sort of rewrite. I thought it would be interesting to see how far along I’ve come in my writing since I was a teenager. The same characters will be used, though personalities will be updated, and new ones will be introduced. This is a pseudo-romance: ultimately, there will be no true, non-canon romance though it will flirt with the line. The ending will likely change. Additionally, this is out of the canon timeline, and as such, I decide who is alive.

_When I had a Heart_

_Aeternus.Flamma_

000

“You know,” Bulma muttered as she took a drag of her cigarette, “we could have done this on a boat—a yacht. Or an island. I know this great private island—“

“Mom,” Trunks replied lowly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye from the passenger seat of Bulma’s car. The woman sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I know, I know. You like _normal_. Personally, I think normal is overrated. I mean, look at us: I’m a genius multi-millionaire, and you’re an alien prince. And yet here we are, once again driving to Goku’s and for your twenty-first birthday—“

_“Mom_.”

Bulma sighed loudly, finished off her cigarette and tossed it out the window. “Fine, but you’re going to regret this down the line.”

Trunks let his head rest against the window with a _thunk_ and stared out at the passing trees. He really would have preferred to have just flown over to Goten’s, but he wasn’t keen on carrying his mother through the sky. She squirmed and it was weird having to hold her. If his dad would have just agreed to go, then their problem would have been solved and they would have already been there.

But _no._ In typical Vegeta fashion, he wouldn’t be agreeable, even for his son’s birthday.

It was annoying, sure, but not hurtful. Trunks had long since grown accustomed to his father’s callous personality. Trunks supposed it wasn’t even that big of a deal. Though his mother insisted that today was a big day, bigger than other birthdays, Trunks didn’t see it as such. Most normal people in their area didn’t celebrate is as a milestone—it was something that had carried over from other parts of the world, and was only another excuse for the wealthy to throw a party. That was exactly why Trunks chose instead just to go hang out with his best friend and his family.

Trunks and Bulma drove for nearly another half hour in silence, cruising down the back-country roads in a luxury car that certainly didn’t belong this far away from the city. Bulma didn’t even bother turning on any music, which Trunks took as a sign that she was deep in thought. He just hoped she wasn’t preparing use another reason why they should be doing something other than spending the better part of their day in the country. He could see her stewing, however, he could see the gears at work in her mind as she chewed her lip, obviously debating on whether or not to say the words on the tip of her tongue.

“Do you think there’s something up with your father?” Bulma finally said as they turned to pull up the long, dirt road that would take them to Goku’s. “I mean, did you think he was acting strange at all this morning?”

Trunks looked at her with a raise brow and shrugged. “Dad’s literally one of the strangest people I know. You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

Bulma _tisked_ at him and gave him a scowl. “Well, you know what I mean. Stranger that _normal_.”

Trunks merely shrugged and shook his head before continuing to stare out of the window.

Strange, in his book, would have been his father eagerly agreeing to go with them for his birthday. Strange would have been if Vegeta had wished him a happy birthday at all. Strange was _not_ staring out the window every twenty minutes or so, as if he were waiting for the mail to show up. It wasn’t unusual for Vegeta to have things floating around his mind, and it wasn’t at all unusual for him to keep it all to himself.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, I know.” And with that, their conversation ended. Soon after, they were parking and exiting the car.

Goten was the first come greet them, clapping Trunks on the back with a wide smile. “Happy birthday, man! Hey, listen, while I’m honored you wanted to come out and celebrate with my family, you know this is pretty lame right? Like, of all the things we could of done—“

Trunks hung his head and exhaled loudly.

“I’m just saying, like, I’ve gotta live vicariously through you, man. This country life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“We’ll go celebrate your birthday, ‘kay Goten?” Bulma said and lit up another cigarette. “I know this great private island…”

“It’s my birthday and I get to decide what we do,” Trunks said loudly, covering his mother’s voice. “And I say—not more talk of what we could have been doing. Let’s just relax and have a nice day. The weather’s great, ChiChi’s food is great, our friends are great, this all I wanted, okay?”

Both his mother and his best friend looked away sheepishly and nodded.

ChiChi chose that moment to come running from the house, wiping her hands on her apron as she went. “Oh, happy birthday Trunks!” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, causing Trunks to smile again. “I had some snacks for you guys, but of course my bone head of a husband already got into them and—“

“It’s fine,” Trunks waved off, “I’m good. Where’s Goku and Gohan?”

“Out back,” Goten replied, jabbing his thumb back towards the house. “Krillin’s already here. He’s brought some good stuff, too!”

Trunks laughed and nodded, not missing ChiChi’s frown of disapproval. “Awesome,” he said and started to walked off in that direction. He was eager to get his birthday going, if only to hear his mother stop complaining. And a birthday it would be—he knew for a fact that his mother had brought a capsule filled with liquor for everyone. Though Trunks couldn’t say that he was a big drinker, the thought of getting wasted in the country side with no one else but his friends around to bother him was definitely _not_ the worst way to celebrate getting another year older.

Who knew? He may not even make it passed twenty-one.

With a small sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and shook away the thought. There was no reason for that. No matter what he had been feeling—what he had been dreaming—he was fine. Everyone was fine.

Though he told himself that over and over again, he felt that he couldn’t fully believe it until he saw all of them, smiling, happy, and alive. Only then could his mind be put at ease and he could begin to put the terrible images from his nightmares behind him.

“—so no Eighteen or Marion,” Goten said as they rounded the house. Trunks realized that he hadn’t been listening to what his friend was saying.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said that Eighteen figured this wasn’t the sort of party that kids could come to,” Goten repeated, “so no Eighteen or Marion.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have cared—“

Goten gave him a light punch in the arm and laughed. “Well yeah, she knows that. But I don’t think she wanted Marion seeing Krillin totally smashed. Probably a good thing. He’s already gotten into a bottle.”

Trunks could hear the ruckus in the backyard before he saw it. There was music playing—something that was likely off of Goten’s playlists—with loud laughter coming from Goku and Gohan. The smell of meat cooking wafted over as they rounded to the back and Trunks was thrilled to see a huge smoker that likely contained a full pig. He briefly wondered how they managed get it over to the house until he saw the CapsuleCorp logo.

“There he is!” Krillin cried out loudly, a bottle of whiskey in his hand and a smile as wide as wide could be. Goku and Gohan soon joined in the cheering, causing Trunks to shake his head with a small smile.

Was is selfish to say that their excitement was what he wanted? All he wished for on his birthday was to have a day surrounded by good friends and family, with no arguing or yelling, no stress or feelings of imminent doom. Though he would never say his own family wasn’t enough (though he would admit that warm and loving, it was not,) he had simply craved that friendly bond in the past few weeks.

“No Pan and Videl?” Trunks asked as he dropped down into one of the lawn chairs. A few of the chairs—which were wooden and well worn—were scattered about the patio area, all faced towards a long table with benches. It was covered to two mismatched tablecloths with a few stack of plates to keep the fabric from blowing off. Once Trunks was settled, Goten was quick to shove a cold bottle of beer in his hands before he could object. “I thought they would come for sure.”

Gohan shrugged and shook his head. “I tried to convince Videl to come, but Pan has an entrance exam in the morning, and they wouldn’t be able to make the trip back and forth.”

“Really?” Trunks asked, brow raised. “She’s eight and they can _fly._ ”

For a moment, it looked like Gohan was thinking about what to say—choosing his words carefully. “First—you know my family. Education is a priority, even in elementary school. Second… You can only fly when you’re sober.”

It took a few second for Trunks to figure out that Gohan was saying that if Videl had come, she likely would have partaken in the partying a well and been unable to fly home in the morning. Trunks let out a bark of a laugh as Gohan turned a bit red, likely fearing that he had insulted his wife. It was hard to imagine the disciplined woman letting loose, but he supposed everyone could find it in them to relax and have a good time if they wanted.

The group sat around chatting for a while until Yamcha came zooming over, apologizing profusely for his lateness. Krillin gave him a hard time, but in reality, no one ever expected Yamcha to be on time. That man consistently ran on his own time schedule. The only two people likely to ever be later than him were Piccolo and Vegeta, both of whom they could never even know if they would decide to show up to a gathering.

“Hey, why don’t we go out to the field and toss around a ball or something before things get to crazy,” Gohan offered. Goku was the first to jump up and run into the house to retrieve beat up rugby ball.

“Yeah, awesome, let’s do that,” Trunks replied over Goten’s grumbling. There would be plenty of time for drinking and eating, in Trunk’s opinion, so there was no need to let the day slip by without doing something.

Together, the group left the back patio and started to head towards the slope leading down to a wide field that was far enough away from the house to not risk tossing the ball through a window—or wall. They laughed and exchanged jabs, both verbal and physical, bottles still in hand.

Just as they reached the base of the slope, Trunks abruptly stopped and turned around, shielding his eyes as he looked to the sky.

“What’s up?” Goten asked as Trunks stopped.

“I…” He squinted and looked around for… well, anything. “It’s nothing.” He turned back around and gave his friend a smile before they walked onwards.

In truth, and not for the first time over the past few days, Trunks had a tingling sensation at the base of his neck and towards his shoulders. It was almost as if his body was trying to tell him to be on his guard—as if something threatening was approaching him. But each time he felt it, there was nothing. Downing the rest of his beer, he set his bottle on the ground and jumped into the air to join the group as they began throwing the ball from one to another.

000


	2. Chapter 2

_When I had a Heart_

_Aeternus.Flamma_

000

For the third time since his wife and son had left for the day, Vegeta found himself outside, staring into the sky. He hated the prickling sensation working its way down the back of his neck and spreading into his shoulders. It was a sense of something approaching, something familiar and something unwanted. Not matter how hard he hoped that it would not arrive, he knew that it was only a matter of time before it was no longer approaching and would be, instead, standing before him.

In a flash, the terrible sensation was gone. He felt absolutely nothing for the first time in days. It did not bring him any comfort. If she wasn’t using her power any longer, then it could only mean…

“It was harder to find you than I thought.”

Vegeta clenched his jaw and turned around slowly, willing to show his uninvited guest his surprise. She was lounging on bench—his bench!—as if she belonged there. Her eyes flicked up and down his body, seemingly appraising him, and her lips briefly twitched upward in a smile.

“You’ve gotten old.”

“And you’re just the same,” Vegeta replied, his voice near a snarl. Though he may have had a general dislike for most people, there were those he disliked _more_. _She_ was one of them.

That woman…she was infuriating! He had hoped that he had seen the last of her back on Planet Vegeta, and yet she had the gall to track him down on his new home and… and _bask_ in his backyard! It was unacceptable. She needed to leave.

“I’m taking a vacation,” she said with a sigh and looked away from him, watching as a pair of sparrows flitted about in a nearby birdbath. Her gold and white, dress-like robes glittered in the sunlight, making her look almost god-like. Well, he supposed, he should hardly have been surprised at that. “I thought a quaint planet such as this might be just perfect. I was terribly surprised when I sensed someone familiar here.”

Vegeta scowled and crossed his arms. “I somehow doubt that… And what, exactly, are you taking a vacation _from_? Hm? I’m sure it’s just _exhausting_ ruling over your planet of gold—gold and _corpses_.”

He watched as one of her eyebrows twitched and she tapped a finger against the back of the bench. He was sure it struck a nerve, and yet it did not change her aloof demeaner. Just like before.

Why was it that the most unpleasant memories were often the ones most vivid? He had very few memories of his parents, but he certainly remembered his first meeting with _her_.

His betrothed.

He was only five years old the first time they had met. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen—he hadn’t understood what a betrothal was, but he knew that she brought with her enough gold to send more Saiyans out against Freiza. Even as a child, he recognized the darkness in her. Not even a few months before Vegeta was sent out to Freiza a trade, she took out a unit of his father’s best men without even lifting her finger.

The image of her sitting in his father’s throne, a silver sword across her lap as a room full of Saiyan men tore each other apart would never leave him.

It wouldn’t be until years later that she explained herself, or, she believed she explained herself, at least. Vegeta hardly found her pitiful excuse reasonable enough to forgive her for the hand she played in the destruction of his home.

The second time he met her was when he was about thirteen. Vegeta didn’t even remember the planet he was on, but it didn’t last long against his team. The natives were slaughtered one by one, too weak to defend themselves. He followed them as they fled his wrath—followed them into an old temple and watched as they bowed before her, begging her to save them.

She didn’t save them, she didn’t even try.

Part of him had wanted her to fight back, to give him the worthy fight he was looking for. Part of him thought that if she had been strong enough to be the one time future Queen of Vegeta, then perhaps she was strong enough to put a dent in Frieza’s forces. It was wishful thinking, however, because she did nothing as Vegeta and his team picked off the weak natives one by one in front of her. Once she was surrounded by bodies, she merely stood and walked by him, her knuckles grazing his cheek.

_“It’s yours,”_ she had said, _“there’s nothing for me here.”_

Vegeta balled one of his hands into a fist, hiding it beneath his crossed arms. He briefly wondered if he was strong enough to take the woman on himself now—or at least knock her down a peg. It seemed she was contemplating the same thing.

“Do you want to know why it took me so long to find you?” She asked lightly, looking at him once more. “Your aura’s drastically changed since last we met. It’s stronger now, more vibrant. It took a few tries, but I was finally able to narrow in on that particular darkness of yours—oh yes, it’s still there, but rather diminished… Is this your home? Why, it looks so… _normal_. If I were to guess, I would say a _family_ lived here.”

Vegeta didn’t need to read into her words too deeply to see the provocation. What did she want him to do? Light her up in his backyard? As much as he would have truly enjoyed that, he knew it was useless and he certainly wasn’t intended to give her a boost of energy.

The third and last time he had run into her was just a few years before Vegeta chose to rebel against Frieza. Very rarely was given a challenging mission and that particular one ended up being a rouse—it seemed more designed for humiliation than anything. There had been a convenient malfunction in his ship, leading to a crash landing on his targeted planet. He, Nappa, and Raditz were retrieved from the wreckage by the locals and stripped of their belongings. When they awoke for the first time after the crash, they found themselves chained and in the center of a pit.

He remembered it very clearly. Bound in chains that even he could not break, surrounded by masked faces staring down at him, holding number fans. It had taken him a few minutes to realize that he was in an auction house.

_“Ah, see? There you have it. The Saiyan is not dead!”_ There had been laughs and jeers as he struggled, shouting, cursing, and growling at the audience. Bidding had started immediately after, and though he had no concept of that world’s currency, it seemed that many in the crowd wished to have one of the last Saiyans as a pet. A war had broken out between a grey, bird masked woman and a man covered in all black. It only ended when a woman in gold doubled their bidding price, calling an end to the auction. Of course, no money would ever be exchanged. Vegeta recalled hearing the screaming as explosions started outside of the building and the walls began to shake. His rescue had arrived.

Large stone chunks had started to break from the ceiling and tall pillars began to topple. He likely would have been crushed, since he was left behind while the bidders fled the building, had the woman in the gold mask not appeared in front of him. She held a staff topped with an eight-pointed star, which she used to break his chains. Vegeta, being the man he is, did not hesistate to attempt to blow a hole through her. Though the beam caused her to stumble back while her dress singed, it left behind no obvious signs of a wound.

_“I’m trying to help you, you fool,”_ she had snapped at him as she broke the chains at his ankles. _“Do you wish to rejoin your friends or not?”_

As much as Vegeta would have liked to have disagreed, he had no clothes and no form of communication to tell his _rescue party_ to stop attacking the building. He growled at her as his fingers twitched, wanting very much to try to put a hole in the woman again, but reluctantly agreed. Once he found Nappa and Raditz, he could try to destroy the woman.

He followed the woman into a door to his right and took out anyone who dared stand in their way. Looking back on it, Vegeta felt rather stupid for how long it had taken him to figure out who his savior was. However, he hadn’t seen the woman in over a decade, so why should she have been one of the first people he thought about? The gaudy mask should have given her away.

He remembered grabbing her by the back of the hair as soon as he realized who she was. She screamed as he pulled her backwards and shoved her against one of the shaking stone walls. _“Why is it that I have now met you three times? For as vast as the universe is, it hardly seems likely.”_ He had his forearm across her collarbone as he pointed his finger at her temple and prepared to blast her brains out. She had hardly seemed phased.

_“The Fates are funny that way, I suppose. Again, I’m **helping** you—“_

_“Were you **helping** when you massacred over a dozen of my father’s men in his throne room?” _ He had snapped at her, the ball of energy growing brighter. Her eyes narrowed and she practically sneered at him.

_“I did nothing than offer them incentive. I merely suggested that I was looking for a particularly special Saiyan, one whom I would grant the wonders of the Aeterna empire to, should he be found. They were the ones who believed I meant ‘the strongest.’ I did not tell them to fight each other to the death to prove themselves.”_

He had heard enough. He released the energy beam, intending for it to take her head clean off. To his surprise, it did not. The force jolted her head to the side and the smell of burning hair flooded his nostrils, but she remained perfectly intact otherwise. As he stared at her in shock, he failed to take alarm as her green eyes glowed brilliantly and her body started to increase in temperature. It wasn’t until he could feel his flesh searing that he released her and stepped away.

_“If you’re quite finished, then I suggest we continue so we can leave before the building comes down around us.”_

In the end, she did help Vegeta find Nappa and Raditz, and they were able to retrieve their gear just before the Ginyu force arrived to ‘rescue’ them. Vegeta learned after the fact that he was always meant to fail, and his ‘rescue’ was to be nothing more than a humiliation tactic as punishment for a previous botched mission. The Ginyu force was to rescue him while he was bound and naked, and use that image to torment him for some time afterwards. Of course, that part never came to pass because of the interfering woman. Regardless, Frieza used his capture as further excuse to publicly abuse him, though that was hardly anything unusual during his time as a slave.

It wouldn’t be until a few years later that Vegeta ever found reference to the Aeterna Empire. It had been an extremely wealthy and powerful intergalactic empire which ruled for nearly a millennium until a sudden darkness destroyed all of the inhabitants on the capitol planet, Aurilius. The empire fell, though rumors said that their ruler had lived and was known to make appearances when she grew bored of her solitude. No one knew her name, and so, she was merely called the Sovereign.

Just his luck that she would be before him for the _fourth_ time when she most who ever saw her once would never see her again.

“Why are you here?” Vegeta growled, taking a step forward. The woman looked vaguely amused as she shrugged.

“Oh, you _know_ why. It’s the same reason I showed up on Planet Vegeta almost half a century ago.”

Half a century--? He supposed it had been that long. Well if he hadn’t felt old before, what with looking at her unchanging features, he certainly felt old _now_. “And what was that? To find you _special Saiyan?”_ His voice came out as nearly a sneer. Surely if there was some sort of special Saiyan left, it would be him, as the Prince… She couldn’t have meant Kakarrot, could she have? That was the last thing he needed: yet another reason for Kakarrot to think himself better.

“Well,” the woman shrugged, “if he currently exists, this planet seems to be my best shot at finding him. There’s a handful of you here, if I’m not mistaken.”

Immediately, Vegeta’s mind went to his son—his _only son_. If there was even a _chance_ that she could take him from Vegeta, well… He took another two steps towards her, his arms at his sides and both of his fists clenched. He felt the air around him start to move as his energy started to rise. “If you think for _one second_ I’m going to let you anywhere near my family—“

“You’ll what? Blast me into oblivion? Tear me apart, limb from limb? What do you think that _you_ can do to me that someone else hasn’t tried? Please, Vegeta, I have over two millenniums on you. I’ve been through it all, and I’m still here.”

He didn’t care one bit what anyone else had tried. He was sure that she had never run into anyone like him, now that he was in some of the best shape of his life. Without a second though, he had a powerful ki blast in his hand and he was ready to—

“Daddy!”

Vegeta froze, inches away from at least trying to blow the woman up, as well as half of his back yard. Had he not stopped when he did, disaster may have ensued. Bulla slid open the back door and skipped out into the backyard.

“I got Trunks a birthday present! It’s a shirt. He rips his as fast as you do—what are you doing?”

Vegeta held the ki blast in his hand, looking between his daughter and the dark haired woman on the bench, who merely looked up at him with a raised brow.

“Momma’s gonna be really made at you for training outside. You know how mad she was when you blew up the garden. She likes to smoke on that bench. Why do you wanna blow it up anyhow? Did it give you a splinter?” Bulla asked, swinging her shopping bag in front of her and tilting her head to the side.

“She can’t see me,” the woman said with a small smile. “So you have a daughter? I find that… shocking actually. Shall I show myself to her? Ask her to invite me inside?”

“Go back inside, Bulla,” Vegeta called out lowly, signally he should not be disobeyed. However, being Bulma’s daughter, of course the girl didn’t move. “I said get back inside!”

Bulla stamped her foot and twirled around, slamming the door so hard that as it slid closed, it bounced back open again.

The woman ignored the ki blast staring her down in the fact and picked a small leaf from her lap, tossing it to the grown beside her. “I would like a place to stay. I do not intend to make an impact on this little world, so I would prefer not to integrate myself with someone important… is this state a—“ she waved her a hand a bit, as if searching for the right words, “—a democracy? I see no signs that would indicate there is a ruler… Not matter, I don’t particularly care…”

Vegeta let the energy in his hand dissipate before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t honestly believe I would voluntarily house you, can you?”

“Well… You could accept me with open arms, or I could wait for your wife—or is it mate?—to come home. I can imagine it now, _‘why, yes, Lady Vegeta, I was your husband’s betrothed and as he is still claiming to be the heir to Planet Vegeta, that treaty still stands and—“_

“Enough!” Vegeta snarled. He wanted to hit something, he wanted to hit something _hard._ He really needed to make his way back to the training room so beat some of the robots to a pulp. If he broke something outside, or in the house for that matter, he would never hear the end of it from his bloody wife! “I don’t believe for one second that you would attempt to collect on that contract and—“

“No, of course not,” she said with a laugh, “I knew long ago that you weren’t the one I was looking for… And so long as you accommodate me, I promise I will not interfere with you family.”

Vegeta clenched his jaw and looked away, staring at a nearby juniper bush. He briefly wondered if the amount of yelling her would get for blowing it up was worth it… It was. He threw his hand out to the side and with one quick blast, it was gone, leaving behind nothing but a pit of dirt. Well, that made him feel at least a _little_ bit better.

“You will be nothing but a humble, considerate guest while you’re under my roof,” Vegeta said, pointing a finger at her for emphasis. “You will not cause trouble for me or mine. Once you find that the person you’re looking for _isn’t_ here, you will leave at once.”

He could see the thoughts running behind her eyes as she looked for loopholes. However she jumped up, a smile on her face, and her hands at her hips. “Agreed. Oh, this should be such a wonderful vacation. You Saiyans are great fun.”

000

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: and with that, we will see if I update again. It was rather hard to finish this, which is not a good sign on chapter two. I hope I will get a wave of inspiration to finish it. A few notes: I am going off of the pre-Super birthdates to figure everything out. I tried to do some extensive research to get the ages correct. I know that in Super, Pan is older than Bulla/Bra. In this, I am going with the original birth years, which makes Bulla a year older than Pan, and twelve years younger than Trunks. At this point, for those curious, I calculate Vegeta to be fifty-five, and Goku to be fifty—obviously not factoring in any deaths and hyperbolic time chamber adjustments. 
> 
> Ever Your Servant,   
> A.F


	3. Chapter 3

At some point during the celebrations, both Trunks and his mother got a text from Bulla, saying that Vegeta had blown up the Juniper bush again. Bulma angrily muttered to herself before cracking open another bottle of vodka and lighting up a cigarette. Trunks rolled his eyes and tossed his phone on the table, set on ignoring it for the rest of the night.

The festivities continued—after playing a round of catch, which took place mostly in the sky, Krillin and Yamcha proceeded to have their asses handed to them in wrestling matches. By the time dinner was served, with Gohan doing the honors of carving the pig because he was the most sober, the boys were a mess. ChiChi did her best to hold her tongue, but she drew the line at them trying to get out of washing their hands. She made them all line up at the sink before she would agree to give them a plate.

The food was, of course, delicious, just like everything ChiChi ever made. That was certainly one thing that Trunks was envious of Goten for—Bulma _never_ cooked. And when she did, her food was inedible. She had gotten it into her head more than a few times to try to become a domestic goddess, and it resulted in a weeklong confinement in her lab afterwards to prove that she had other worthwhile skills. It also sometimes included a kitchen remodel.

After dinner came a cake—it was, unfortunately, not a ChiChi creation, but Trunks supposed the woman had enough on her hands with all of the hungry Saiyans that he could let it slide. Bulma had picked up the cake from an expensive bakery in the city because of course she did. There was a chorus of drunken singing which caused Trunks to laugh so much that he couldn’t blow his candles out. Instead, a napkin blew across the table, catching on fire. The entire wooden picnic table proceeded to go up in flames because so much alcohol had been spilled throughout the night that it had become incredibly flammable.

There was more laughing as the nearly indestructible Saiyans attempted to put it out. Bulma and ChiChi both shrieked in horror, hurrying to hold their hair back from the rapidly increasing inferno.

In the end, the fire wasn’t put out. Goku merely tossed the table to the side and proceeded to throw some more firewood onto it, turning it into a bonfire. However Goku, who always thought with his stomach, had the foresight to save the cake before flipping the table.

They split up the cake—which had more or less turned into a flambe, and moved the remaining chairs and benches to their impromptu bon fire.

The drinking and laughing continued on, late into the night. ChiChi eventually turned in, deciding that she had had enough of the chaotic evening. Bulma retired shortly after her, using one of the capsules in her traveling kit to create a little cabin just next to Goku’s house. Piccolo never showed, but Trunks had more or less expected that. The guy was a grump and Trunks had never had the same connection with him that Gohan did, for example.

Krillin and Yamcha were the first to pass out—well, Krillin was first. Yamacha had decided to be a good friend and carry Krillin into the house to crash on a couch, but proceeded to collapse just before the door. The Saiyans decided to leave the two there. It was a perfectly nice night out, after all.

Goku, Gohan, and Goten all sat around the fire with Trunks, drunkenly singing some song that Trunks swore had played for the fifth time that night. He sat back in his chair with a content smile and tapped his bottle against his arm. He was getting tired, and he wasn’t sure how much later he could stay awake. Soon, he found himself staring into the fire, his eyes growing heavy.

Just as he thought he might fall asleep right then and there, in the uncomfortable wooden porch chair, his heart started racing. The smell of the smoke overwhelmed him and he couldn’t catch his breath. Trunks quickly stood, dropping his bottle on the ground, the last of its contents draining into the grass. If the others were looking at him in surprise, he didn’t notice—no, in fact, he couldn’t see them. He was alone with the glow of the flames.

To get away from the smoke, Trunks turned and started to walk away in any direction. He was less concerned about where he was going and more concerned with being able to breath. However no matter how far be walked, it seemed he couldn’t escape, which certainly shouldn’t have been the case with just a regular old bon fire.

He knew he had headed into the woods, or at least, he should have based on how far he walked. All around him, all he could see was smoke. He could smell it, taste it. When he finally felt like he couldn’t hear the flames of the fire behind him, he could hear screams. They were faint and distant… Or perhaps not. It was like they were all around him, but also not quite _there_.

There was someone calling for him. He recognized his name as it was being shouted—someone was terrified, looking desperately for him in the smoke. Oddly, it wasn’t _his_ name. He _recognized_ it as if it were his own, but the voice wasn’t calling out for _Trunks_. It was calling out for someone else. He was about to call back when he felt someone grab him.

Trunks whirled around, his arm raised in automatic defense. He nearly threw the hard punch, but stopped with just a heartbeat to spare when he saw it was Goten.

And just like that, Trunks was in the woods. There was no spoke, just the moonlight flittering in through trees. He could see the glow of the fire in the distance, and he could still hear Goku’s and Gohan’s singing. “Goten,” Trunks said, feeling his adrenaline start to disappear.

“Hey man, you okay?” Goten asked, not at all phased by the fist that had been raised in his face.

Trunks took a moment to look around. It had only been a few seconds but he was already forgetting what had just happened. “Yeah I—I dunno why I walked down here—I—“

Goten laughed loudly and gave Trunks a little shove. “Dude, if you had to come down here to take a leak just say so! I was calling after you and you just ignored me! C’mon man, I don’t wanna see that.”

Trunks returned the laugh and shrugged. “Yeah, that must have been it.” And with that, the odd thoughts and sights and sounds were gone, and he was right back to his birthday party.

000

In the morning, Trunks’s head was just killing him. He may have been half Saiyan, but even they could be done in by strong liquor—and judging by the number of empty bottles that were littering the yard, the five Saiyans and three humans had blown through enough to close down a small bar. For once, Trunks was relieved not to have a job—he planned to take a few more days just to relax.

“Bulla—just wait—what do you mean—ugh, stop talking when I’m talking!”

Trunks looked around from his spot on the now dewy grass and saw that Bulma had already packed up her Capsules and was pacing around her car, cellphone to her ear.

“I’m coming home—just—just go over to Ayako’s until I get there. Bulla, just do it.”

Sensing that something was desperately wrong—Bulma often became frustrated with Bulla but the tone of her voice suggested more than that—Trunks ignored the pounding in his head and went to his mother.

“What’s going on?”

Bulma put a hand to her head and shook it. “Well, I think your father’s officially lost it.”

Trunks merely stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Bulla says that your father has been talking to himself since yesterday. He’s doing it when he doesn’t think she’s around, but apparently, it’s like he’s having a one-sided conversation. I know that he’s sometimes done that before in short bursts, but she put me on speaker phone so I could hear him. He was threatening to tear someone apart and—and I dunno. There was a pause, like someone answered, and then he started talking again. Something’s just wrong.”

Trunks sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. To be honest, the thought of flying sort of made his stomach sick, but the thought of a potentially dangerous Vegeta alone with Bulla was definitely worse. “You want me to fly over there?”

Bulma nodded. “Yes. Yes I do. I’ll drive home since you can go faster without me. But as soon as you know what’s going on _call me_.”

“Yeah, alright, at least go thank ChiChi for me though.”

Trunks was not at all thrilled to have to up and leave everyone after they threw him such a nice party, but he knew they would understand. It was always something in their lives… they never got a chance to just… be. He gave Gohan, who was standing on the porch with a cup of coffee in his hand, a quick wave and then shot off into the air.

It took every ounce of strength to keep from vomiting while he rocketed into the sky. However once it was comfortably above the clouds and out of sight of anyone on the ground, Trunks felt almost immediately better. Perhaps it was the sunshine or perhaps it was the cool air. Regardless, after just a few minutes of flying, he was able to clear his head and pick up speed.

Without having to worry about carrying his human mother through the skies, Trunks was able to make it home in just about twenty minutes—barely a fraction of the time it was going to take Bulma to drive. He waited until he was just above his home, which he could sense because of Vegeta, and dropped quickly from the sky to the back yard. Luckily, Bulma owned enough property that there really wasn’t anyone around to see him.

Trunks immediately felt worse once he was on the ground. His headache returned and he once again felt thoroughly hung over. Wiping his hand down his face, Trunks shook his head at the hole that had once been his mother’s Juniper bush and headed for the back door.

“—you don’t even _need_ to eat, you whiny little—“

“—who told you that? Of course I need to eat, or, at least, I like to—“

“—make your own damned food! I am not your—“

Trunks could hear voices from the kitchen, even with the door shut. He furrowed his brows and opened the door. The voices stopped suddenly and the owners stared at him.

“Your back,” Vegeta grunted. Trunks looked at his father and then at the woman sitting at his kitchen table.

Trunks quickly shut the door again, and side stepped, just in time to vomit into the flowerbed. It was violent and painful, and far worse than any other time he had ever been sick, alcohol induced or otherwise. He coughed and choked, and for a moment, he swore he had spewed blood. After blinking a few times, the red he thought he saw disappeared.

Trunks used the back of his jacket sleeve to wipe his mouth and tried to equally wipe away his embarrassment. He was sure he would get an earful from his father, which was bad enough, but to be so out of sorts in front of a guest.. Ugh. As he stood and faced the door again, he could see that both of the individuals inside were staring at him, but neither made any move to help him.

Taking a deep breath, Trunks opened the door. “I, uh….” He looked between the two. His father was burning holes into him with his angry stare, and the woman looked vaguely interested—or annoyed—or disgusted—it was really just hard to tell.

He didn’t necessarily _mean_ to stare at her—but it was difficult not to. She was, undoubtedly, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life. If not _the_ most beautiful. She had long, dark hair that fell down the sides of her face, framing it perfectly. Her skin was a lovely shade of golden bronze, and he swore that she was nearly glowing. It took him a full moment to realize how odd her clothing was—how out of place she looked in such a high tech house hold. It was almost if she was out of a painting, one that featured the goddesses of Mount Olympus.

What struck him most, however, were her eyes. She had brilliant green eyes that shined far brighter than any normal set of eyes should.  He stared into them and suddenly felt a tight pain in his chest. It wasn’t until she spoke that he managed to mentally pull himself away.

“You can see me?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chuckles* Almost a year between updating. Yup. That seems about right for me. *slams head off desk*

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: thank you for reading! I have no idea if I will be continuing. I suppose it depends on when the inspiration hits. I do have a plan for the next chapter, so that one is likely to come in the next day or so.
> 
> If I Had a Heart was a silly story based on fandom tropes that I saw frequently in fics from the early 2000’s. At the time, I thought it was witty and hilarious. I wish I could slap my young self silly and shake her until she saw the light. Alas, it took me continuously writing for a decade before I started to see the difference between ‘fandom-voice’ writing and actual writing. So, this is my attempt at rectifying that whole mess. The only benefit to reading the old story is to understand what I mean by ‘pseudo-romance,’ as the two characters involved will be the same. Beyond that, it’s terribly cringeworthy!  
> Ever Your Servant,   
> A.F


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